Amnesia?
by codenamepapabear
Summary: After a mission goes wrong and Newkirk is injured, Hogan fears the worst.


Prompt: Athazagoraphobia- fear of being forgotten

This evening's escapade would be just a routine mission into town to meet with an Underground contact. Newkirk was dressed in typical civilian clothing, hand-sewn yet precisely tailored, as was the tradition at Stalag 13's custom outfitters. Meanwhile, Hogan was in German Luftwaffe uniform, along with LeBeau, who occupied a lower rank. According to the plan, Newkirk would make a diversion in the Hofbrau, Hogan would calm down the situation and take him away, and under the pretense of restoring order, LeBeau would discuss the matter with the main Hofbrau bartender - who was, conveniently, the contact they needed to meet.

The idea seemed foolproof from the outside. It was nearly completely self-contained, and Hogan had full faith in Newkirk's ability to make a nuisance of himself.

The first half of the plan had gone flawlessly. Newkirk had insinuated himself into the company of a German officer and his Fräulein, disrupting their dinner and playing the part of a drunken pleb to the hilt. Hogan, under the guise of Lieutenant Hoganmüller, had arrived in time to save the day and haul the misbehaving interloper away, while LeBeau met up with the Underground contact and exchanged information outside the purview of any suspicious civilians.

They hadn't counted on the German officer taking personal offense at the incident, though. Nor had Hogan been expecting that the officer would deliver a blow to Newkirk's head, closed fist colliding with his temple. All he could do was try and fail to catch the Englishman, then kneel beside the fallen corporal, who was now prone on the floor like a rag doll.

A hushed silence had fallen over the restaurant. LeBeau broke it by shouting in badly butchered German at all the restaurant attendees who were gaping at the scene, while Hogan gently lifted Newkirk into his arms, carrying him out and delivering a forceful condemnation of the other officer's decorum all the while.

Once they left the restaurant and were a safe distance from the camp, Hogan knelt in the woods, out of reach of the Stalag 13 searchlight. Newkirk was still unconscious, and the color had fled from his face, creating an unsettling pallor. Hogan was exhausted by now, having hauled him most of the way. Carrying a man nearly his size wasn't exactly an easy task, especially for such a distance.

"Mon Colonel?" LeBeau peered at him, brow furrowed deeply in worry. "He is not well."

"I know." There wasn't anything that could be done other than to get Newkirk to safety and keep him calm when he woke up. Hogan took a deep breath and lifted him into his arms again, cradling him as close as he could. Newkirk was lighter than he'd expected, but still felt like a sack of potatoes anyway. LeBeau went on ahead and opened the tunnel for them and Hogan lowered himself down, managing to maneuver Newkirk safely through the tunnel entrance as well. There was a cot nearby for transient escapees and Hogan went over to it, then set down his fallen corporal, resting Newkirk's head carefully on the pillow before slumping down on a nearby chair.

Kinch poked his head in from the radio room. "Roll call's in ten minutes, Colonel. We'd better get going." Taking notice of Newkirk, he put down the headset and got up, walking closer. "Hey, what happened?"

"One of the filthy Boche hit him on the head! But he will be fine." LeBeau was trying to reassure himself more than his companions at this point. "They do not know how to control their tempers! Why, the same officer shouted at me when he noticed my uniform braid was half a millimeter off! We should have-"

Hogan held up a hand to quiet the chatter as Newkirk stirred from his unconsciousness, blinking slowly and raising a hand to his head. He'd developed a horrid headache by now, and his vision was blurred as well, stars dancing in front of his eyes. He blinked slowly, squinting at the figure closest to him. "Where am I?"

A sick feeling settled in Hogan's stomach. "The tunnel system, Stalag 13."

Newkirk blinked again, running a hand through his hair and staring up at the dirt ceiling. "What's Stalag 13?"

"Our prisoner of war camp." Hogan's face had settled into a mask of calmness. "We're prisoners of war."

"What's a prisoner?" Newkirk gazed at him as innocently as could be. "Come to think of it, what's a war?"

Hogan didn't know how to respond to that. Was memory loss really _that_ severe after a blow to the head? His mask slipped and his worry showed on his face, dark eyes meeting Newkirk's own. This couldn't be happening.

"Just teasing, gov'nor." Newkirk sat up and grinned, wincing slightly as his head started to ache again, but he put a hand on Hogan's shoulder anyway. His charade of memory loss brought a few of the other men to faint laughter, but they all quieted when they saw the stern look that crossed Hogan's face. "Hope you gave that bleedin' Kraut a good lecture."

"_Newkirk_." Hogan glared at him, but let out a quiet sigh of relief as his nervous tension dissipated. He stood up, practically hauling the corporal to his feet, and looked directly at him. "Don't _ever_ do that again."

"Got it, sir." Newkirk was suitably chastened. He followed after Hogan once the other let go of him, but Hogan went back towards the tunnel entrance instead, the other men following in turn. Kinch had mentioned it was time for roll call soon, anyway, and they might as well be prompt. No need to disappoint Schultz.

And, just to be safe, Hogan stood just a little closer to Newkirk at roll call that evening.


End file.
